


A Thousand Words

by dralexreid



Series: Dr Piper Bishop [50]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27981702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dralexreid/pseuds/dralexreid
Summary: The BAU travels to Tallahassee to profile a tattooed serial killer after he commits suicide, but left clues to the location of one remaining victim who is possibly still alive.
Relationships: Dr Spencer Reid/Dr Piper Bishop
Series: Dr Piper Bishop [50]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972852
Kudos: 16





	A Thousand Words

Piper and Spencer knew something was at play with their weekend when JJ marched through the bullpen as Derek pressed Emily about the cherry red dress hugging her frame beautifully. “Hey, JJ, have a good weekend,” Emily chirped, a smile gracing her face until JJ tapped on the file in her hand.

“Sorry,” she managed before taking the steps two at a time to Hotch’s office. Piper started dialling a familiar number while Derek groaned.

“There goes my beach house rental.”

“And my non-refundable sin to win weekend in Atlantic City.”

“Sin to win?” Piper scoffed as she waited for her friend to pick up.

“Yeah. And I always win big,” Emily smirked as she moved away from Derek to the familiar path to the conference room.

“What did you have planned?” Derek asked with a grin as he jumped off Emily’s desk.

“Guest lecture at Columbia,” she muttered bitterly.

“Voluntarily?” Derek laughed.

“I didn’t have any plans,” Spencer said pointedly, and Piper hit him with a pen. Spencer chuckled, waiting for Derek to saunter past before pressing a kiss to Piper’s hair, ignoring Rossi’s dry chuckle from the bannister.

Eventually, the team gathered, and JJ filled them in on the case. Rebecca Daniels was missing for 3 weeks. A man covered from crotch to chin in tattoos, apparently, had called 911 before promptly shooting himself. Each tattoo was of a different, linked together by branches with banners inscribed with dates. The detective was worried Rebecca might still be alive. They spent no less than half an hour discussing the case before traipsing to their desks to grab their bags, then to the jet. All of them wasted no time in getting some sleep on the jet before they’d arrive in the morning. Dawn arrived as they touched down in Tallahassee and in the beginning, Piper loved the feeling of fresh sun on her skin that had been drowning in dry air conditioning in the jet. By mid-morning, she’d started to hate it, swapping a dark turtleneck with a light grey button-up and extracting her sunglasses. For once, she was grateful Tallahassee P.D. didn’t have a bike to spare as she shared an SUV with Emily and JJ. Rossi was the first out of his vehicle as they reached the crime scene, grumbling at Piper’s quick pick-up on the semantics that technically, since suicide wasn’t a crime, it wasn’t the scene of a crime.

“Oh, this heat is brutal,” Derek groaned.

“You know, it isn't so much the heat as it is the humidity,” Spencer pointed out and Hotch smiled at Rossi’s face, as though he was about to murder someone. He wanted to point out to his old friend that if he did kill Bishop and Reid, that really would make this a crime scene, but he’d rather stay alive.

“At some point, it doesn't matter how you look at it,” Derek countered. “It all sucks.”

“I hate summer,” Emily grumbled.

“I hate Florida,” Piper concurred beside her, although Spencer wasn’t quite sure that was because of the heat or her past. Regardless, they made their way up the hill slowly in the blazing heat and watched blearily as Hotch introduced the team to Detective Barton. Piper saluted when her name came up and Spencer waved at his.

“Hope you’ve got a strong stomach,” Barton cautioned as he stepped into the cabin ahead of the unit. Derek and Emily glanced around the cabin with a raised eyebrow.

“Talk about staging,” Derek said.

“Talk about ego,” Emily amended.

Piper moved around the large throne-like chair in the middle of the room in step with Rossi. “We’ve seen worse, right?”

“Sure,” Rossi agreed. “Just can’t remember when.” He hadn’t been identified, they learned. But he’d been a prolific journal-keeper as Derek and Emily would soon find out.

“The murders only go back 10 years?” Hotch asked.

“As far as I can tell,” Barton answered, flanked by two uniformed officers.

“This guy’s at least early 40s,” Piper said, her face twisted in confusion.

“Late bloomer,” Rossi said sarcastically. Piper barely heard the detectives question on whether a lot of serial killers commit suicide, nor Spencer’s answer on how they typically saved it for when they went to prison.

“Something happened to you,” Piper murmured as she bent on her knees. “You felt trapped, there was no way out, why?”

“Something to share with the rest of the class, Bishop?” Rossi smirked as he surveyed the tattoos.

“Generally, suicide is a result of one in six factors; clinical depression, psychosis, impulsion, need for attention, a philosophical desire to die or they made a mistake. It’s by no means a definitive list, but it’s comprehensive enough.”

“All the staging suggests a need for attention,” Rossi offered.

“But his ego wouldn’t let him. Look at this. This cabin’s a metaphorical castle to him, the chair’s his throne, this—" she stood, gesturing to the collage of victims on the wall— “is his legacy. There’s something beyond attention.”

“He was on the phone with dispatch,” one of the uniforms offered. “And then, boom. Must be what, 15 feet?” Rossi followed the officer’s gaze to the lamp dangling above.

“Consummate overachiever,” he remarked, and Piper snorted softly as she traced the tattoos gently.

“Why is it when men kill themselves, it gets everywhere, but women don't leave a mess like they were never there?”

“Women worry about who has to clean up,” Rossi answered belligerently. “Men don't give a damn.”

“Also, men happen to be dramatic assholes,” Piper added. “Women are just fed up.” She stood up, calling Spencer over. “You know what kind of tree this is?” Spencer squinted, looking for some distinguishing characteristic.

“Could be anything. Why?” She scratched her neck.

“I’ve seen a tree like this before. Just can’t recall where.” Rossi gently turned over the man’s wrist revealing a rose tattoo.

“Look at that,” Reid marvelled. “At the turn of the 16th century, Rose tattoos were put on men who were sentenced to death.”

“Really?” The uniformed officer seemed genuinely interested in Reid’s revelation.

“Yeah. If they escaped, it served to identify them. But now roses pretty much symbolize pure love,” he continued.

“Pure love,” Rossi scoffed. “Right before he kills them.”

“Well, it’s not that simple. If he was a truly philosophical thinker, a single rose would mean more than that. A rose is meant to be the symbol of absolute perfection. It’s an ideal of consummate achievement,” Piper elaborated.

“Have you read The Illustrated Man?” Reid asked, cheer lifting his voice as Piper examined the man’s hands.

“H. G. Wells?”

“No, that’s The Invisible Man. You read it last week.” Piper nodded slowly as she continued surveying the body. “It's a collection of short stories by Ray Bradbury, based on the meta-fictive device of a man who's covered in tattoos drawn by a woman from the future. At night-time, the tattoos come to life and tell a story. It's pretty awesome.”

“These do tell a story,” Rossi said absently and Piper straightened, turning to notice the curious look on the officer’s face.

“Meta-fiction is sort of like breaking the fourth wall but in a book,” she supplied before asking them something else. “Any chance we can turn him around?” The officers obliged, quickly leaning the man forward.

“Well, what have we here?” Rossi hummed and Piper leaned over to see the empty gap on the man’s skin.

“That’s two spaces,” Spencer noted as Hotch walked over.

“What have you got?”

“It’s a tree,” Piper murmured, lost in her head.

“Brilliant deduction, Watson,” Hotch said, walking over. “What do you have?”

“Well, if he’s a romantic, he’s got a rose,” Rossi answered. “Might mean there’s a lover out there. If he’s philosophical, then he’s just a narcissistic—”

“Dickwad,” Piper completed with a smile as Spencer sauntered over to Derek and Emily who had called him over.

“What's up?”

“Our man here was a prolific journaler,” Derek announced.

“With teeny tiny handwriting,” Emily explained.

“He probably had counselling at some point when journaling was part of his therapy,” Reid supplied.

“That's what we were thinking.” The duo seemed to think that was sufficient for the BAU prodigy, but it was clear he wanted them to ask.

“And?” he prompted.

“And, uh, well, you know, the two of us, it would take us like 3 days to read all of this stuff,” Derek explicated as Reid screwed his lips in thought.

“You guys owe me,” he said finally, and Derek beamed, handing him the composite notebook as Emily drew him a stool.

* * *

“So, what do we know so far?”

“Apart from the fact that he’s a dirtbag?” Emily asked and Hotch sighed deeply.

“Yes,” he managed eventually, and she nodded.

“He wanted the police here,” Rossi started as Piper flanked his right side, gazing at the tattoos. “He wanted us to see all this.”

“And he was definitely a sadist,” JJ added.

“From what we saw, his journals were graphic and meticulous,” Derek continued.

“Harry Potter!” Piper exclaimed jubilantly to everyone’s surprise. “Sorry, just uh—I figured out where I’d seen the tree before.” They kept staring at her. “Um, basically, there’s this huge family tree in the fifth movie and it looks exactly like the tattoo.”

“Well, being a 40-year-old man, I don’t think he got it from Harry Potter,” Rossi said.

“Summer doesn’t suit you, Rossi,” Piper grumbled. “It’s beside the point. The point is that trees are meant to symbolise growth and flourishment but also nurturing relationships. He’s got a personal connection with each victim.”

“Covering himself with his victims' likeness Is methodical, possessive,” Rossi thought aloud. “He'll always own them like they’re a part of him now.”

“And the suicide shows commitment,” Emily added. “He's organized and compulsive.”

“The crimes are on an annual cycle,” JJ voiced. “Computer printouts on the board, they were all printed on the same day... 2 weeks ago.”

“That's when he rented this building,” Barton piped up.

“And proceeded to move everything into it,” Derek added sombrely.

“So, he did all of this in 2 weeks,” Hotch summed up.

“Something had to have happened 2 weeks ago,” Piper mused. “Someone must have gotten close if he decided to end everything right now.”

“That’s it,” Spencer exclaimed. “Everything.”

“Reid?” Hotch asked worriedly. Perhaps his genius had finally cracked.

“Everything,” he repeated, jumping up to join them. “Everything. His body, the tattoos, the clippings, the printouts, the journals. He moved it all into one room. He wanted us to see all of it. See all of him... His work...the women, he put them in chronological order. He's screaming, ‘look at me.’”

“Yeah, we got that,” Derek said, confused.

“If you take a step back, it sorts of makes sense. It's just a confession. A giant, flashy confession,” he explained to a sea of lost faces. “What would we say if an unsub turned himself in to the police before they were even onto him?”

“That he was trying to hide something,” Hotch answered.

“Or someone,” Rossi added.

“He made a mistake in his third book. I almost missed it, but then I caught it.” Spencer rubbed his eye before reading aloud. "I thought it would take longer, but today was the lucky day. She almost walked right by, almost missed her completely, but at the last moment, we found our latest guest."

“We,” Emily picked up.

“He has a partner. He put everything in this room so we wouldn't look further, wouldn't dig even deeper,” Rossi said. “If he has a partner, he's still out there, and he's got Rebecca Daniels.” The group stood for a moment, absorbing this fact until a uniformed officer poked his head into the cabin, informing them that the press was here. JJ surged forward, following the uniform down and Hotch instructed Piper to help Reid when she was done with the body. Meanwhile, Emily and Derek left to get some air. The heat inside the cabin meant the stench of blood was quadrupled and Barton followed with Hotch in tow.

“What’s she doing down there?” Barton gestured to JJ down the hill wrangling the press.

“She's trying to keep the media from running the story right now,” Emily answered.

“But wouldn't that help us get it out there,” Barton asked. “Put some pressure on the partner?”

“But if the partner knows about the suicide, he might dispose of Ms Daniels and disappear,” Derek countered.

“If anyone can stop the media from running something, it's JJ,” Emily supplied with confidence as Hotch approached them.

“So let's profile the partner,” he announced.

“We know that the unsub was a dominant personality, an alpha,” Emily started. “Can any of you guys think of a case where a dominant unsub committed suicide to protect a submissive partner?”

“No,” Hotch agreed. “So, the partner must be equal in some way.”

“Or at least not a competitor, not somebody that he needed to feel dominance over,” Derek added. “Maybe it was someone he cared about?”

“It would be hard for a sadistic psychopath to care about anybody,” Hotch said. “Which would make the partner all that much more important to him.”

“What about the tattoo artist? He couldn't have done those by himself,” Emily wondered.

“Maybe that's the role for the partner,” Derek suggested. “It would certainly make him important.”

“What the hell does any of this have to do with Becky?” Barton burst out. “I mean, isn't there something we should be doing, damn it?” Emily and Derek remained silent. Hotch spoke first.

“Detective, may I speak with you for a moment?” Emily watched them walk away as JJ approached on the other side.

“So, we have until the evening news...6 PM,” JJ reported.

“How much do they know?” Derek asked surprised.

“Oh, the troopers told them everything,” JJ said, holding back a sigh.

Inside the cabin, Rossi phoned Garcia as Piper kept studying the tattoos next to Spencer who was flying through journals. _“Agent Rossi, please tell me you called because the case is over and I can erase this freakity-freak off my otherwise uber-delicious desktops.”_

“Long way to go, kid.”

_“I am into epidermartistry as much as the next Gen Xer, but this guy...eesh, I'm just glad he's not breathing the same air as you, my fine furry friends.”_

“Agreed. What have you found out about tattoo artists down here?”

_“That the state of Florida requires licensing for all skin illustrators, but...and I am not going to elaborate on how I know this... Not everyone in the body art lifestyle goes through official channels.”_

“All right, we'll start with the legit ones and see if anyone recognizes the work.”

_“I shall send the list to your PDA.”_

“Thanks.” He slipped the cell into his pocket, turning to a curious Piper. “Epidermartistry?”

“That’s not a word,” Piper said, squinting. “The top layer of the skin is called the epidermis, but technically, tattoo ink goes down to the dermal layer.” Rossi blinked at her. “I was in AP Biology. Dropped the class after they told me I had to dissect stuff. Ugh,” she shivered before gazing down at the man pensively.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Tattoos date back to ancient Egypt and the Nubians,” she proffered. “They were terrible. One guy just had 4 Ss tattooed on his shoulder. Herodotus wrote that among the Thracians, to be tattooed is a sign of noble birth, while to bear no such marks is for the baser sort.”

“The point of all this?” Piper looked up.

“No point. Just making conversation,” Rossi sighed.

“How do you know this stuff?”

“I read,” she answered simply. “Tattoos were rarely used with ink,” she continued, perambulating the body. “Romans used to burn them on theie—” She trailed off as Rossi walked out. “I hate when they do that,” she murmured and heard Spencer humming in agreement behind her.

Meanwhile, Hotch and Detective Barton stood in a secluded spot near the cabin.

“Look, I'm sorry I popped off,” Barton said. “I'm just a little worked up.”

“I've been over the Rebecca Daniels case file, your reports. Do you know her?”

“What?”

“Is there a personal relationship?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You've referred to her twice as Becky.”

“I did?”

“And nowhere else is she referred to that way. It's always Rebecca. Now, if there's something that's gonna cloud your judgment, I need to know about it.”

“No. I don't know her.”

“Then what is it?”

“Look, I've... I've been doing this a long time, and... It usually just washes right over me, you know, People killing people, depravity, you know. As long as you make it home at night, right? But this one... Her parents... They're just such good, decent people. She seems like an amazing girl, and... It's all just... Sometimes it's just too much. You take it personally. Stupid, right?”

“Caring about a victim, personalizing them, can only be stupid if it's reckless,” Hotch said and Barton took a moment.

“Don't worry about me. I'm good.”

“All right. Let's go and try to bring her home,” Hotch said as Derek and Emily saw Rossi approach, his blazer held over his shoulder.

“Whew. It's like 110 out here and it feels like a refrigerator compared to their warehouse,” Rossi said, coming down the hill.

“How are they doing?” Derek said, gesturing to the cabin.

“It doesn't even seem to faze them. Bishop’s making conversation and Reid's just sitting there in the corner turning pages.”

“Yeah, Reid goes to another place when he reads,” JJ scoffed.

“I've got the addresses of the major tattoo parlours in Tallahassee,” Rossi continued, waving his PDA. “That work is pretty detailed. Someone might recognize it. You want to go check these out with me?”

“Sounds fun,” Emily deadpanned and the two made their way to the SUVs as Hotch approached them.

“Hey, so, uh, I got a few more hours out of the media,” JJ reported.

“Well, we'll take what we can get,” Hotch said. “Good work.”

“Prentiss and Rossi are going to check out some tattoo parlours. Is he ok?” Derek asked, nodding to the detective on the other side of a fallen tree.

“Yeah.”

“Did you ask him about calling her Becky?”

“He'll be all right,” Hotch insisted.

“Well, I hope so. Because we still have no indication that this girl's even alive,” Derek said grimly.

Rossi laid out the photographs over the counter as the burly man surveyed them. Clearly he was impressed with the ‘body-suit’ as he called them.

“Man, this is beautiful work. It's a body suit? He's completely covered.”

“Pretty much,” Rossi answered the man.

“Yeah. The Illustrated Man,” the artist scoffed.

“Second time I've heard that today,” Rossi said.

“The book?” Emily asked.

“Reid mentioned it,” Rossi dismissed.

“Everybody in the body art world knows that story,” the tattooist commented. “You said this dude killed himself? Did he, like, gash his wrists open or something?” 

“The tattoos...” Rossi reiterated. “Could you recognize who did this?”

“I wish. I'd hire this dude in a heartbeat. This looks free-hand. Trust me, free-hand portraiture is pretty gnarly to do on the skin, man,” he remarked. “Did he shoot himself?” Excitement filled his voice. “Because none of these pictures have a head.”

“Can you tell if the same artist did these?” Emily asked tiredly.

“It looks like it. But they weren't all done at the same time. Some of the inks are newer. You know, if I saw the body, I'd probably be able to tell you more.”

“Uh-Huh. How about these?” Rossi handed him more portraits.

“These are a lot of portraits. What do they mean?” the artist asked.

“That's what we're trying to figure out.” Rossi had grown weary. Tallahasse was testing every ounce of his patience, as was the tattooist with his incessant questions and juvenile excitement. He moved to leave, only for the tattooist’s eye to catch on the killer’s tattooed wrist.

“Hey, that doesn't fit,” he remarked.

“What doesn't?” Rossi asked, intrigued.

“There's something under the rose there.” The artist pointed with a ringed finger. “Looks like...a cross? A big one.”

“Where?” Emily asked.

“Inside the rose. And the work is sloppy. See that?” He traced two perpendicular lines with his middle finger. “They put the rose over it to cover it up.”

“Yeah, I see that” Emily acknowledged, leaning in to get a better view.

“Yeah, that wasn't done professionally. More like it was done in jail.”

“If he did time, that would explain how a 50-year-old unsub doesn't start killing until he's 40,” Rossi said, turning to Emily, ignoring the bewildered tattooist.

“And why rapists become killers after they've been in prison,” Emily added. “They learn not to leave a witness. Garcia can track this through the biometric recognition program,” she finished, fishing her cell out of her trouser pocket.

“So, there's, like, no chance of me seeing the dead dude, right?” the other man asked, flicking a long strand of hair out of his eyes.

“None,” Rossi answered before turning to get the door for Emily.

“Hey, P.G., I'm gonna send you a photograph of a tattoo.”

“You know that empty space on his back makes him exactly like The Illustrated Man,” the tattooist called out.

“I thought he was covered completely.”

“In the book,” the artist said grimly. “In the movie, there's an open spot on his back, so you can see the future.” Rossi and Emily nodded, a little confused and slightly more sombre than they were already as they made their way out.

Back at the cabin, Hotch re-entered the cabin, making Piper flinch involuntarily from the journal in her hand before she muttered that someone needed to put a bell on their boss. JJ simply asked her to let her know when she’d try so she could organise a eulogy. Spencer didn’t bother glancing up from his journal and the ladies couldn’t help but feel harried by their colleague’s lack of emotion. “Rossi and Prentiss think he may have done time and that one of the tattoos may have been done in prison,” Hotch told Derek and Barton within earshot of the rest of the team.

“That's a good bet,” the dark agent murmured.

“I've got Garcia running everything through the biometrics database.”

“Biometrics?” Barton asked.

“Yeah, it catalogues all the prison inmates and their tattoos,” Derek explained.

“They have detailed photos of every tattoo on every inmate,” Hotch said. Piper looked up from her journal to get rid of the crick in her neck, raising a hand to her collar and squeezing gently as she gazed at her boyfriend. JJ caught the look and excused herself to organise lunch for the team, though they didn’t have much of an appetite.

“Spence,” she tried softly, but knew well enough that once he started reading, it was terribly difficult to get his attention again. She bit her lip and before any second thoughts could balance out her judgement, she placed a gentle hand on his knee. He looked up; eyes glazed over slightly by continuous reading. “You need a break,” she told him, but he just rubbed at his eyes and continued reading.

“I’m fine. We need to get through these journals.” Piper took a deep breath and tightened her ponytail, about to dive back in when Spencer murmured something. “No, no, that’s not right. It isn’t the only blank space.”

“There were two empty spots,” Piper recalled. “What does he say?”

“In the journal, he talks about filling in the last space, how once he does that the artwork will be complete.”

“Well, one of the spots was for Rebecca, what about the other one?” she asked.

“We need to see the body again,” Spencer said finally, discarding the journal into a pile and alerting Hotch before they left to the coroner’s office.

Back in D.C., Penelope shouted eureka as she dialled Emily’s phone. _“Garcia?”_

“I ran the covered tattoo through the morpho tracking system.”

_“Tell me you got something, babe.”_

“Emily, don't get ahead of my dramatic telling,” she scolded her. “I analysed colour, design, and texture. There's a 95% chance it is from one of 4 major institutions in the north-eastern prison system. The string of missing began unbroken from 2000, So I went back from that year, found 53 similar tattoos on forearms. Of those 53, 10 were released Prior to 2000. Thank you and good night.

_“You are amazing. Of the 10, any convicted rapists?”_

Penelope took a moment to narrow down her search. “4.”

_“Do any of them trace back to Tallahassee?”_

She added another filter and her shoulders sagged. “None. So ultimately, I have nada.” She heard silence on the other end and made to hang up when Rossi’s voice filtered through.

_“Bob. The guy who rented the property, just Bob.”_ Penelope went back a track, going through her list of 4 names.

“I have a Robert Matthew Burke, convicted in 1991, 8 years for rape, released October of '99.”

_“And the missing began in 2000,”_ Rossi murmured. _“Garcia remind me never to try to hide from you.”_

“Perish the thought, mon ami,” Penelope said, grinning before hanging up.

Meanwhile, as Spencer and Piper extracted themselves from the car, he slipped his cell into his pocket. “They’ve got a name. Robert Burke.”

“Barton recognised him?”

“Yep. Hotch said that he's a registered sex offender, an ex-con out of Virginia. He got a traffic ticket near FSU the night Rebecca disappeared. They’re going to his address now.”

“So, he was a suspect?” Piper asked as Spencer held the door open.

“Yeah, he was scheduled to come down for an interview and a DNA swab on Monday.”

“That’s what changed. He was about to get caught,” Piper grinned.

“I know that grin. Why are you grinning?”

“Because Derek owes me 20 bucks and an iced latte.”

“You bet on cases?”

“Not all the time. Sometimes we bet on how fast we can make Rossi irritated.”

“How much money has Derek lost on that bet?” Spencer said, smiling for the first time that day as he wiped the sweat from the back of his neck.

“This month? 70 bucks,” Piper said, mirroring his smile as they entered the medical examiner’s office.

“FBI?” the lady asked.

“I always get a tingle when people say that.” Piper whispered to Spencer as he pulled out his badge.

“Honestly, so do I some days,” he murmured to her before turning to the M.E. “We’re here to see the tattooed man from this morning.”

“Yeah. I’m Sam. You have a name for this guy?” she asked as she led them to the body.

“Robert Burke,” Piper supplied.

“Nasty guy. Heard what he did to those women,” Sam muttered, uncovering the body.

“Well, he doesn’t smell as bad as this morning,” Piper said. “Could we turn him over? We need to see the back of the body.” Sam nodded and called in her assistant. Together, the two ladies flipped him slowly, letting him lie on the examination table on his stomach. “Thanks.” Spencer pulled out two gloves from his pocket, passing one to Piper as he moved closer. Using two gloved fingers, he gingerly pressed the free spot on the man’s upper back.

“You know, he could have stigmatophilia,” Spencer murmured, exploring the skin with his fingers.

“Roman soldiers had tattoos,” Piper said to no-one in particular. It wasn’t often she got to talk about the history behind tattoos. “Continued into the 9th century. Painful too. They had specific branding irons which they would heat up and then mark the flesh with. Did it to slaves, criminals, prisoners of—”

“Piper,” Spencer interrupted. “Feel this here. It feels like raised ink.” Piper matched Spencer’s motion, feeling at the shoulder.

“That feels bruised. There’s something under the skin there.”

“I’ve read about this,” Spencer murmured. “Tattoos put on with invisible ink so that no one can see them.” Piper straightened.

“In what book?” Spencer waved her off, asking for a black light and for the lights to be turned down.

“You’ve read books on ancient tattooing; I’ve read stuff on modern tattooing.” Piper narrowed her eyes at him as he grasped the black light, moving her eyes away from him to the body. Spirals of fluorescent purple ink flowed from his hip across and over his back, linking each woman together before reconvening at his shoulder.

“What is that?” Piper whispered as Spencer shined a light on his shoulder.

“It’s an embryo in the womb.”

“His partner’s a woman,” Piper realised.

“They’re having a baby,” Spencer said, both of them mirroring looks of bewilderment.

“I’ll start the car,” Piper offered, backing out of the room as Spencer tossed her the keys.

“I’ll call Hotch,” Spencer called out, handing the light back to the examiner and pulling out his cell as he followed Piper out.

_“Do we know if she had the baby yet?”_ Piper heard Hotch say as they got into the SUV.

“The tattoos have dates, the embryo doesn't. Dating is prominent in the tattoos and the journals and they're calendrical in their abductions. It's hard to believe their baby's birthdate wouldn't be exceedingly important to them.”

“Then she's probably still pregnant,” Hotch deduced. “Well, he didn't live here with a pregnant woman. This is a males-only SRO.”

“No, she has to have a house, anyway,” Piper called out as she pulled out onto the road. “They kept these women for a year each. It wasn't in a one-room apartment.”

“We should have Garcia try and find her through doctor visits or medical records,” Spencer suggested.

“He basically lived off the grid,” Hotch countered. “Which means she did, too.”

“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” Piper announced, swerving violently onto a corner, going way beyond the speed limit as Spencer turned the cell off.

Meanwhile, Hotch did the same before turning to his team. “Judging by the photographs of what they did to the victims,” Emily started, walking over from the collage on the wall. “It's safe to say they live in isolation.”

“We've seen his hatred for women, and yet he teams up with her,” Derek pointed out. “What kind of woman could change him?”

“You think they met in prison?” Barton asked.

“Garcia already went through all of that. He had no female visitors,” Emily said with a sigh.

“What about prison staff, doctors, religious volunteers?” Hotch proposed.

“We went through a long list of all the vendors who were there during his incarceration. None of them resurfaced in Tallahassee.”

“What kind of a woman would go to a prison to fall in love with a rapist?” Barton asked confusedly.

“Someone vulnerable, emotionally fragile, drawn to violent men,” Rossi suggested.

“Someone in her life made her that way. Classic abuse cycle,” Hotch sighed.

“What if that's who she was there to visit?” Derek said, pulling out a cell to call Garcia.

“It's worth a try.” Derek nodded, moving outside of the cabin as the sun was setting. The air became cooler as he dialled a familiar number.

“ _My sweet,”_ Garcia greeted.

“Hey, you know the visitor logs from the prison we looked at?”

_“Uh-Huh. Still have them at the ready.”_

“I need you to check dates for me. Were there any women who visited another inmate while burke was there but then suddenly stopped visiting when burke was released?”

_“Huh,”_ he heard her say. _“Ok, let me hit you back.”_ The line cut and Derek returned to the cabin. By the time Spencer and Piper pulled up outside the cabin, Penelope had their results. Emily threw Piper a bottle of water which she drank before passing to Spencer. “ _Okay, rev your engines guys. Juliet Monroe went to visit her father in prison once or twice a year from '92 to '95.”_

“What was he in for?” Hotch asked.

_“Rape. And she was his primary victim.”_

“He raped her, and she still went to visit him every year?” Barton asked, his intonation pitchy.

“She's repeating the cycle she grew up with,” Hotch explained.

_“Yeah. She went from visiting him once or twice a year to once a month from '95 to '97.”_

“When Burke was serving his time for rape,” Emily added.

_“And then she increased her visits to once a week all through '98 and '99, until they stopped completely in October of that year.”_

“That's when he was released,” Spencer said.

_“And if you want me to slip you some convincers, she owns a house in northern Florida.”_

“Garcia, get us the address,” Hotch directed as he led the team out to the cars. Piper gave Derek a distressed look as Rossi tossed Spencer a pair of keys before she ducked into the SUV with him. Eventually, Spencer slowed to a stop behind Hotch’s SUV and Piper practically ripped the door off its hinges as she got out, barely hearing Hotch’s order to take the back of the house. The duo split to either side of the house and Emily flanked the house with Spencer. Piper was right on Derek’s heels, both hands on her gun. Hotch and Rossi breached the front of the house while Emily took the kitchen. Piper followed the wails of a baby, beckoning Derek over as she took the steps two at a time to the basement, Barton close behind. She kept her gun raised, motioning for Derek to take Juliet while she moved towards Rebecca. Holstering her gun, she cradled the baby in Rebecca’s arms while Barton released the woman from her chains. She glanced over at Derek who checked Juliet’s pulse before closing his eyes and shaking his head. The only sound was the baby’s coos and Barton’s reassurances until Piper took the child outside.

Reluctantly, Piper handed the child over to the waiting EMTs before standing by Rossi’s side for the rest of team to emerge while the latter watched Hotch approach Barton. The detective watched the ambulance doors close before him before it wailed away into the darkness. “Is she going to be okay?” Barton asked Hotch quietly as Rossi and Piper spoke out of earshot.

“I wouldn't bet against anybody who survived what she did,” he answered honestly. “How about you?”

“Oh, yeah, you know, nothing's gonna affect me,” Barton waived him off.

“You know, we wouldn't be here if you hadn't worked the case as hard as you did,” Hotch spoke suddenly.

“How's that?”

“It would have been an easy thing to miss a routine traffic ticket in the area she disappeared. You kept the pressure on. You cleared 9 homicides and you brought Becky home. It's impressive work, detective.”

“Thanks.” Hotch nodded, walking away to join his team to make their way to grab their things and head to the airport. Rossi drove with Emily and Piper while Derek and Spencer took another car. Hotch caught the keys JJ tossed over the car before getting in to follow the others.

A few hours later, they took their predictable spots as Spencer confidently started a poker game with Emily, Derek on the couch beside them, listening to music while Piper turned a page of her novel next to JJ, unconsciously listening in to their game. “3 cards, please,” Emily asked Spencer who happily obliged.

“3 cards for the lady and I’m going to take one card.”

“Ooh,” Emily grinned. “One card. A straight or a flush, Dr. Reid, what are you trying to fill in?”

“Well, considering the odds of filling in an open-ended straight with one card are 5-to-1 against, while a one-card flush draw is more like 4.5-to-1, I guess you'd say if I was smart, I'm drawing to a flush,” Spencer said, matching Emily’s grin. “Hmm. I think I'm gonna go all in on this.” He cleared his throat, pushing all his pretzels in the pot. Emily held eye contact as she pushed in her pile of nuts too.

“So, are you?”

“Am I drawing to a flush, or am I smart?”

“Either.” She shrugged.

“Well, I'm... I'm provably a genius, but, uh, actually, I was drawing to a full house.” Spencer laid his cards flat up on the table. “8s over 6s.” Emily sucked in a breath.

“Ooh, I always forget you’re from Vegas.” Spencer chuckled, moving to pull the mixed nuts and pretzels to his side. “Ah, not so fast. I, too, have a boat. Jacks over 3s.” Spencer stared disbelievingly at her cards.

“You drew 3 cards to a full house? That's like 100-to-1 against.”

“97-to-1,” Emily corrected. “Looks like you're out,” she said, smiling at the dumbstruck, self-proclaimed genius as she pulled in her winnings and Derek chuckled, walking over.

“Hey, Prentiss. Sin to win,” he prompted her, pulling out an earbud.

“I'm sorry, what?”

“Come on, now, I gotta know. What the hell is a sin to win weekend in Atlantic City?” Emily sighed as Spencer looked on, baffled.

“Derek, I have a tremendous amount of respect for you, but there are some questions that if you have to ask them, it means you probably couldn't handle the answer,” she said, getting up from her seat with a smirk. She sauntered away to the other side of the jet as Derek muttered to Spencer.

“There is a whole other side to that woman.”

“I never lose,” Spencer grumbled, not listening.

Meanwhile, Piper tucked her feet into her seat as JJ mulled over their case.

“I know environment plays a bigger role than genetics when it comes to determining a child's future, but that baby, I mean, both the parents,” she murmured. “How many other serial killers had kids?”

“A lot,” Rossi provided, accepting pistachios from Hotch. “Manson has like 10 or 11 children. Albert Fish had 6.”

“Gary Ridgeway had a son,” Hotch added as Piper looked up from her novel. “Fred and Rosemary West Had 7 children living in the home where they killed 10 women including one of the children.”

“Okay, so, the baby's gonna be ok?” She glanced between Rossi, Hotch and Piper, the last of whom held an uneasy smile.

“No-one’s really sure if there is a murder gene,” Piper supplied slowly, gauging JJ’s interest. “In the end, it’s all part of the nature versus nurture debate. Essentially, it’s been found that there’s 3 main factors in the making of a serial killer. The first is loss of function in the orbital cortex which means—”

“Will he be okay, though?” JJ cut her off and Piper bit her tongue.

“That’s what I’m trying to say,” Piper tried again. “There’s no definitive answer to the question. As long as he’s in a good home, with a good family, with love, affection and care, I think he’ll be okay.” JJ nodded, more relaxed and Piper rolled her shoulder slowly, noticed by Rossi.

“What are those factors, anyway?” Hotch listened to them chat good-naturedly, smiling slightly. He knew perfectly well how much Rossi knew about the making of a serial killer, and how well he knew Piper. Briefly lost, he tuned back into the conversation that Reid had now joined too, making Rossi almost regret his question. But the longer the conversation held, the more he felt comfortable at the easy flow between the group as they talked about the serial killer gene and anti-social personality disorders.


End file.
